


Four Million Women

by dance_across



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Codas, Everyone is Bisexual, F/M, M/M, Missing Scenes, Never Have I Ever, Submissive Fraser
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dance_across/pseuds/dance_across
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You read comics at all, Fraser? ’Cause what I’m saying is, you’re basically Captain America.”<br/>“Captain Canada,” murmurs Ben, smiling despite himself. “And no, I’m not that. Not at all, I promise you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Million Women

The first time they go out to eat, it’s just small talk. It’s not till the second time that Kowalski brings out the case files. He plops them, a fat pile of folders, right in the middle of the table between his pizza plate and Ben’s own, and says, “You mind? Just I figure it’s good if we go over some stuff. Like just in case.”

In case of what, Ben isn’t sure, but he does agree that going over Ray’s files is probably a good idea. Essential, even, to maintaining the illusion that he and Kowalski have worked together for years instead of days.

He nods.

“Greatness. Okay. So. Here’s the biggest question I have. Metcalf case.” Kowalski opens the top folder and jabs a finger down, right into the middle of a block of text. “You remember this one, yeah?”

A lean-to made out of a rifle and a coat. Fingers, almost frostbitten, inside his mouth. A revolving door, a television without sound, Dief’s fur sticky with red a bag of diamonds a quarter in a slot a hidden key the trainrunningreachingjumpingfalling—

“I remember,” he says, keeping his voice neutral as he blinks the memories away.

“Okay, I figured. Chick works you over like that, you don’t forget it.” Kowalski licks his lips, eyes moving fast as he peruses Ray’s typed-up account of the case, and Ben braces himself for the worst kinds of questions. “Yeah, so what I wanna know is, how’d I miss my shot?”

Ben pauses. This is not what he was expecting. “Beg pardon?”

“Vecchio’s a good shot, right? I mean _I'm_ a good shot,” Kowalski adds with a smirk. “Every other case file’s full of me being a good shot. Getting the bad guys on the first try, stuff like that, yeah. So what went wrong here?”

They never actually talked about it, after it happened. Not in so many words, at least. Ben admitted his intention to go with her, Ray seemed unsurprised, and that was enough to confirm Ben’s suspicion. The bullet hadn’t gone into the wrong person. It had merely landed an inch or two closer to fatal than Ray had intended.

He still hasn’t quite forgiven Ray for that shot. Nor has he yet found the right words to thank him for it.

“I suppose nobody’s a perfect shot one hundred percent of the time,” says Ben. “Not even Ray.”

“You mean, not even _me_.” Kowalski is smirking again, but this time it’s an inclusive kind of smirk, like he and Ben are in on the same joke.

“Not even you,” agrees Ben.

“Okay, sure, I'll buy that,” says Kowalski, eyes on the file again. “But riddle me this. There’s a whole lot of difference between having a clear enough view to see that Metcalf’s got a gun in her hand, and you being so in front of her that the bullet I shot at her goes into you instead. What happened? Did I hesitate?”

No. Ray Vecchio did not hesitate.

“We were moving fast,” says Ben, carefully dabbing the grease off his second slice of pizza, which he has not yet begun to eat.

“We,” repeats Kowalski.

“Victoria and I.”

“Victoria. You mean Metcalf.”

Ben keeps his face neutral, as though he doesn’t know exactly what Kowalski is getting at. “I mean Victoria Metcalf. Yes.” And he takes a big bite of pizza, like putting a period at the end of a sentence.

“Okay,” says Kowalski, and Ben watches with relief as he closes the folder and slides it to the bottom of the pile. But before he opens the second folder, Kowalski snaps his eyes up to Ben’s face again. “Okay, but I just gotta know if I read that thing right. You were involved with Metcalf? Like _involved_?”

Snowflakes in dark eyelashes. Her siren voice, pulling him back from the murky edge of sleep. Her soft lips, kissing his face and his neck and then down, down, down.

“Yes, I was,” Ben says shortly.

“Huh.”

“‘Huh’?”

“I dunno, Fraser, you just don’t strike me as the type, is all. You know?”

Ben does not know. He’s never thought of himself as a type. Only as himself. And the self, as far as he’s concerned, is defined entirely by its actions. Therefore, et cetera.

“What type am I?”

Kowalski barks a laugh and makes a gesture that centers on Ben’s uniform. “This type. This, right here. Mister Strong Upstanding Citizen Who Saves The Day. You read comics at all, Fraser? ’Cause what I’m saying is, you’re basically Captain America.”

“Captain Canada,” murmurs Ben, smiling despite himself. “And no, I’m not that. Not at all, I promise you.”

“And, see, I find it interesting you’d say that,” says Kowalski, as he lifts his pizza slice with one hand and opens the second folder with the other. “I just kinda bet there’s lots of things I don’t know about you yet.”

“That,” says Ben, “is very likely indeed.”

\- - -

“Pistons,” says Ray, as soon as he’s sure the Ice Queen can’t hear. “Explain pistons.”

“A piston?” says Fraser, looking totally confused. “Usually it’s a solid cylinder within a hollow one, although it can also take the form of—”

“No, geez, no, I know what it _means_ ,” says Ray, laughing as he claps Fraser on the back. “I mean what did _she_ mean. Boss lady. She talked about your legs and she said pistons, and it sounded to me like she’s totally hot for you.”

Fraser has this look now, the same look he get pretty often, like he’s trying to unhear whatever he’s just heard. Usually it happens when someone says something nice about how he looks. Seriously, of all the guys Ray’s ever worked with, he’s never met a bigger chick magnet than Fraser—and Fraser seems hell-bent on not noticing what a chick magnet he is. It pisses Ray right off.

“She was just trying to set the scene, Ray.” Fraser’s voice is all business, totally pro, totally Mountie. “She was trying to capture the details.”

But Ray’s having none of it. “Tell me straight. Ice Queen got a thing for you? You guys got a thing together?”

Fraser’s face goes kinda tight, kinda worried, and he scratches at his eyebrow, which either means he’s figuring out how to avoid the question, or he’s just really uncomfortable.

“’Cause, see, I noticed she’s got a nice rack,” says Ray, trying to be helpful. “So it’s not like I’d blame you if you were doing it with her. Fact is, maybe I’d even be a little jealous.”

“Even if that were true about her, ah, assets,” says Fraser stiffly, “and I’m not saying it is, as it would be most impolite for me to profess an opinion either way—even if that were true, she and I are not, as you say, _doing it_.” He tugs idly at his ear and adds, “Perhaps there was one kiss, in rather dire circumstances, with the very real fear of death looming over us, and I’ll thank you kindly not to repeat that, but—”

“She kiss good?” asks Ray.

Fraser looks at him. “It was once. It won’t be repeated.”

“Oh yeah? How come?”

“Her orders.”

For some reason, it’s those two words that stop Ray’s brain dead in its tracks. He never thought about Fraser as the sort of guy where you just give him an order and he follows it. Sure, it makes sense on account of Thatcher being his boss and all, but still. Orders about kissing and not-kissing. That’s real different from regular orders.

“Huh,” he says. “Well, all right. Doesn’t explain why she was feeling up your face before.”

Fraser’s lips twitch, and Ray could swear he’s trying not to smile. “She was trying to put herself in the shoes of the woman she believed to be the killer.”

“Ha,” says Ray. “More like she was trying to put herself in the _pants_ of… uh, of _you_.”

“The pants of me?” says Fraser, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” says Ray. “She wants into your weird baggy Mountie pants.”

All at once, Fraser relaxes. “You know, Ray, the reasoning behind the admittedly unusual cut of the RCMP uniform…”

And he’s off. He’s got his hand planted comfortably between Ray’s shoulder blades, steering Ray toward the door so they can go for pizza or a burger or whatever, and he’s explaining something about horses and non-stretchy fabric and blah blah blah and to be honest Ray’s kind of tuning him out.

What he doesn’t tune out, though, is the way Fraser’s lips move while he’s talking. He imagines Fraser all liplocked with the Ice Queen, maybe both of them in red, maybe both of them in those dumb pants because Ice Queen’s a Mountie too, right, and they’re kissing maybe with tongue and maybe without, and it’s actually kinda hot.

Well, duh it’s kinda hot. Because it’s like Ray said before. She may be an ice queen, but she’s got a nice rack.

\- - -

Then comes Janet Morse and her children. Then comes Janet Morse’s low-life husband, and Janet Morse’s resolution to provide for her kids and deal with the lot she’s been given, and Janet Morse’s regretful goodbye to Ben.

Then comes Ben standing in the hallway of the precinct, asking his dead father about loneliness because he’s so alone himself that there isn’t anyone else to ask.

Then comes Ray. Not “New Ray” anymore, not “Kowalski” either, but just plain Ray, asking him out for dinner. Offering to _buy_ him dinner. Putting his arm around Ben and leading him out to the car.

As Ray pulls up to his favorite diner, Ben thinks about Janet. As they sit down and Ray orders a deluxe burger with extra fries and Ben orders a plain turkey sandwich with mustard instead of mayonnaise, Ben wonders why he can’t _stop_ thinking about Janet. It isn’t as though they’d’ve made a good fit in the long run. Sure, they both preferred open spaces to the big city, but Janet had those kids.

But Ben _liked_ the kids. So what was the problem?

As Ray starts talking about this weird squeak he’s started hearing in the car, and how he’s going to have it checked out after the weekend, Ben realizes exactly what the problem is. It’s not the children themselves; it’s the fact that Janet is used to being surrounded by their presence, their energy, their _life_. Janet is a person who probably isn’t used to being alone.

Ben, if anything, is no good at _not_ being alone. And now that he thinks about it, he isn’t sure that he would know how to build a life with a person who doesn’t know loneliness as intimately as he does.

“Hello, hello, Earth to Fraser.” Ray waves a hand right in front of Fraser’s eyes. “I said, what do you think?”

“About what?” Ben asks.

“Upgrading the sound system? In the car?” Ray pauses, then sighs. “That Morse woman still under your skin?”

“You might say that,” says Ben, busying himself with unrolling his silverware from his napkin. “But yes, I think an upgrade is a good idea. If you think it’s worth the cost, at least.”

“Never mind the upgrade,” says Ray. “What’s going on with you?”

Ben looks up at him, startled. The question strikes him as unusually open-ended. Fraught with peril. He’ll have to be careful how he answers.

Which doesn’t explain why the next thing out of his mouth is: “Ray, do you ever feel lonely?”

“Me?” says Ray, leaning back in the booth with a practiced cool-guy laugh. “Me, nah, never. I’m that guy, you know? That guy everyone wants to hang with. Chicks all over me, guys wanting to buy me a beer. I’m that guy.”

“I see,” says Ben, very quietly. It shouldn’t be too long before their food comes. They’ll eat, and Ben will listen politely as Ray talks about his car or his friends, and then Ben will go home and sleep on his cot with Dief curled in the corner. He’ll have quiet again, at least until tomorrow.

But then Ray’s tone changes completely, and he says, “Come on, Fraser. You know I got nobody since Stella. So yeah. I get lonely. Everyone does.”

Ben nods at the table. His heart hurts. He believed so easily that Ray was telling the truth with his first answer. Why, after all this time, has he still not learned that you can’t take people at face value?

“Yes,” he says. “I suppose it’s a common feeling.”

“That don’t make it suck any less, though,” says Ray, and that’s when their food arrives. For a few minutes they’re distracted by the passing back and forth of ketchup and salt and pepper, and then Ray adds, with his hand held up to block a mouthful of half-chewed burger, “What sucks even more than that, you know, is being lonely even when there’s someone right next to you that you shouldn’t feel lonely with. The kind of lonely where you want her to want you, like to _need_ you, but she doesn’t. You ever felt that kind of lonely?”

He’s talking about Stella, of course. But no, Ben doesn’t know what that kind of lonely is like. He’s never been with anyone long enough for them to stop wanting him.

He shakes his head and eats his sandwich.

“Well, good,” says Ray. “Nobody should have to feel that kind of lonely, especially no buddy of mine. It sucks. A guy wants to feel wanted, you know? A guy wants to have somebody in his life who’s gonna look out for him, make sure he’s not going anywhere, just ’cause that’s how much she cares, you know?”

All at once, Ben is blindsided by the memory of Victoria. He tries to shut it out, but he can’t. It’s the only time in Ben’s life that he felt desired in the way that Ray just described. The only time ever. His voice comes out thick as he says, “I do know.”

Ray pauses. And when he says “Oh, yeah?” it’s with such uncharacteristic softness that Ben can’t help what he says next.

“The first night I was with her, she tied me to the bed.” It’s a detail he’s never told anyone before. Not even Ray Vecchio, to whom he told many personal things over the course of their time together. “She bound my wrists and she…. It was… it was like you said. She didn’t want me to go anywhere. I’d never— _never_. Not before and not since.”

He said most of this to his sandwich, not to Ray’s face, but a quick glance upward reveals Ray staring at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. For some reason, that’s when Ben realizes he never gave a name. Only a pronoun. Only _she_.

“I mean Victoria,” he murmurs, again to his sandwich. “Victoria Metcalf. You, ah, read her file, I believe.”

“Jesus, Fraser,” says Ray.

And the memory is gone, leaving Ben alone at a sticky table under fluorescent diner lights, with Ray gaping at him like he’s acting even more the lunatic than usual—which he definitely is. He feels his cheeks heating up.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t usually… I’m so sorry, Ray. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I’m very out of sorts today. Perhaps it’s best if I go home.”

“Home?” says Ray. “You mean that office of yours?”

Ben nods miserably and gathers his hat.

But Ray says, “Gimme a break. Here, come over to my place. Dief too. We’ll watch a movie or a game or something. Pick up a six-pack on the way.”

“I don’t drink, Ray.”

Ray grins, his eyes going sly as he leans his elbows on the table and moves his head closer to Ben’s. “You let yourself get tied to a bed, but you won’t have a beer with me?”

Ben nearly chokes on thin air. “Ray—”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, okay? That’s what I’m saying. Come over. I’ll give you apple juice or chocolate milk or something. Whatever Mounties drink.”

Slowly, Ben sets his hat down again. They finish their sandwiches, and on the way back to Ray’s apartment they stop to pick up some beer. As they sit side-by-side on Ray’s couch, a can in Ray’s hand and a glass of water in Ben’s, Ben finds himself unable to concentrate on the movie, despite how funny Ray seems to find it.

No, Ben’s concentration keeps wandering over to Ray himself. How odd to tell someone that you’ve been tied to a bed—to imply that you’ve _enjoyed_ being tied to a bed—and for nothing to change afterwards. How odd, too, the sudden inexplicable urge to touch Ray’s gelled-up hair. To smooth it out, just to see how Ray responds.

But the movie plays on, and Ben keeps his hands to himself, and eventually he goes home, where the rest of the night is even lonelier than usual, because now there’s emptiness where, just an hour ago, there was another person beside him.

\- - -

“You kissed her again.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you. You kissed her, right on the deck of that boat, right where anyone could see. What about the order she gave you?”

“Well, _technically_ it was Inspector Thatcher who kissed _me_ , not the other way around, so _technically_ I was still following her orders.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, Fraser, you are. With the fire extinguishers and the making out with your boss and the _buddy breathing_ , which by the way I am _sure_ that is not actually a real thing, and—”

“What are you implying, exactly?”

“I’m not _implying_ anything. I’m saying _very directly_ that I do not believe buddy breathing is a real thing.”

“Look it up, Ray. I assure you, it’s quite real.”

“So you didn’t have any, like, ulterior motive.”

“What kind of ulterior motive would that be?”

“Oh for crying—Never mind, Fraser. Just never mind.”

“Would you _like_ me to have had an ulterior motive, Ray?”

“Ain’t saying that. Anyway we’re talking about the Ice Queen, right?”

“…Of course.”

“That’s twice now, right? So you guys gonna, you know, date or something? Go out for Italian in matching uniforms?”

“I’d imagine that’s entirely up to her.”

“So that’s how it is. You’re gonna let her call the shots and just do whatever she says.”

“Well. She is my superior officer.”

“That’s not what I—! Ugh. Never mind.”

And when Ray tries to sleep that night, he keeps thinking, for some stupid reason, of the Ice Queen tying Fraser to his tiny cot, in his tiny office. Unbuttoning his long johns and having her way with him, giving him orders and watching him follow them, one by one by one. It isn’t till he rubs one out that the image finally goes away.

And when Ben tries to sleep that night, he keeps thinking of Ray, accusing him of inventing buddy breathing, which he most certainly did not. But while he wants Ray to know that he didn’t lie, he also half-hopes that Ray won’t look it up. It isn’t until he’s nearly asleep that he wonders if he actually _did_ have an ulterior motive after all.

\- - -

“I’ll accept an IOU,” says Fraser, forever the straight-faced comedian.

“An IOU on air?” says Ray. He’s been trying to get this game to end, because it’s been a long day and he’s damn tired.

“I want you to honor your wager.” Fraser, again, totally straight-faced.

So Ray calls him out. “That’s stupid,” he says.

Fraser looks up at him. “Is it now?”

“Mm, yeah. You bet.” Ray stifles a yawn. God, it’s late.

“Which part do you mean?” says Fraser, taking the deck into his hands, beginning to shuffle. “The IOU, the honor, or the air?”

“All of the above,” says Ray, standing up. “Come on, lemme drive you home.”

“Because air,” says Fraser, still shuffling as though he didn’t hear Ray at all, “is a far more precious commodity, at times, than the average person might think. Take, for instance, the day not too long ago when you and I were trapped underwater. I had air. You did not. Considering the events that thereafter transpired, one might conclude that you ought to double your IOU.”

He’s talking about the goddamn thing he did in that sinking ship, blowing air into Ray’s mouth, and now Ray’s getting sort of tingly just thinking about it because he hasn’t been able to _stop_ thinking about it and what did Fraser call it again?

“Double my IOU,” Ray manages to repeat, like a regular human being who can still make words with his mouth.

Buddy breathing. That was it.

“Well, yes,” says Fraser, all placid like. “The air you owe me from this game we’ve just played, the air you owe me in exchange for the air I gave you underwater. If we assume the amounts are equal, which you may not—really, it’s entirely up to you—then yes. Double.”

Ray swallows. How can he give Fraser his air? He can barely breathe right now.

“Ha,” he manages. “That something you learn from Denny Scarpa? Like when she _kissed_ you?”

“Not at all, Ray. It’s only logic.”

One second Ray’s watching Fraser, talking all calm with his face in profile like that, with his fingers bending the cards back, shuffling them, bridging them. The next second Ray’s putting his hand on Fraser’s cheek, turning Fraser’s face toward him, and pressing his lips against Fraser’s.

The next second, he remembers to open his mouth and breathe out, blowing air into Fraser’s mouth. And he should pull away, he really should because, hello, this is his place of work, and cops as a rule don’t go in for this kind of thing—but he doesn’t. Pull away, that is. Not yet. He just stays there, his parted lips against Fraser’s parted lips, not kissing exactly, but not _not_ kissing.

Just… sharing air.

When he stands up straight again, he runs a hand through his hair and works his face into a grin. “There you go. Double the air, double the fun, am I right?”

But Fraser doesn’t recover as quickly. He sits there, cards motionless in his hands, and looks up at Ray with an expression so naked, so open, that Ray finds himself speechless in the face of it. If Ray didn’t know better, he’d swear Fraser is about to cry.

Fraser breathes. His face closes up again, bit by bit turning back into the professionally neutral face that Ray knows best. Ray desperately wants to make it stop, but he doesn’t know how.

“You were right, you know,” says Fraser, as he tucks the cards back into their case and stands up. “You warned me not to fall for her, and you were right to. She’s an intelligent woman, and a beautiful one at that—but when push comes to shove, she’s a lone wolf.”

Diefenbaker, who’s been cuddling that poodle in the corner for the past hour, makes a questioning noise. For maybe the first time ever, Fraser ignores him.

“Oh yeah?” says Ray.

Fraser nods. “Yes. So in all likelihood, if anything more than a kiss had happened, it would’ve been Vic— _Ah_. It wouldn’t have led to anything good.”

“Woulda been Victoria all over again?” says Ray, feeling very suddenly like he wants to punch somebody’s lights out. Somebody, anybody. Anybody but Fraser, that is. “That what you were gonna say?”

“It wouldn’t have been good,” says Fraser again.

“So, leave the lone wolves alone,” says Ray. “That’s what you mean. On account of it’s safer that way.”

“Indeed,” replies Fraser, and leaves it at that.

As he drives Fraser back to the Consulate, Ray wonders to himself whether the lone wolf in that scenario was really Denny Scarpa. Because it could just as easily, for vastly different reasons, be Benton Fraser.

Later on, when he’s all tucked in and surrounded by the familiar silence of his empty apartment, it occurs to him that the lone wolf could also, very easily, be Ray himself.

\- - -

“Shoulda gone with her when she asked,” says Ray, two days after Tracy Jenkins’s departure. It’s not the first time he’s said this, but this time he adds something new: “Why didn’t you?”

They’re at Ray’s place again, with a hockey game playing in the background as they wait for Chinese delivery. Egg rolls and fried rice and sesame chicken. Maybe Ben started feeling comfortable here without realizing it. Maybe that’s why he answers truthfully instead of evading the question like he wants to.

“I’ll admit it was tempting,” he says. “But it would’ve been a horribly impulsive decision, and impulsiveness, I’ve learned, doesn’t suit me.”

“Oh yeah?” says Ray, propping his feet up on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankles. “When’d you learn a thing like that, Mister I’ve Never Done Anything Impulsive In My Life?”

Ben studies Ray’s face. His eyelids are at half-mast, his head tipped back to rest against the couch. He’s the picture of lazy indifference—which, in Ben’s experience, means he’s paying even more attention than usual. Ben decides, once again, to tell the truth.

“Ray, do you remember the day we went over Ray Vecchio’s case files? We were eating pizza. You asked me… certain questions.”

“I asked you like a thousand questions that day,” says Ray easily.

“You asked about the bullet,” says Ben. “You asked why he missed his target, when he’s usually such a good shot.”

Ray nods. “Yeah, I did ask that.”

“The real answer,” says Ben, “is that he didn’t miss.”

All at once, Ray’s sitting up straight again, the pretense of indifference evaporating like steam. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Ben swallows. “Ray knew, somehow. He knew what my intentions were. He knew that I had to be stopped, and he knew that nothing short of a bullet would have stopped me. He was right, of course.”

There’s a long, dangerous pause in which Ben doesn’t look at Ray, but he can feel Ray looking at him. Finally, Ray says, “You weren’t trying to catch her. You were running away with her.”

“As I said. Impulsiveness doesn’t suit me.” Ben thinks about Tracy, about Denny Scarpa, about Janet. About Inspector Thatcher, even. And he adds, “If anything does suit me, it’s being alone.”

“Yeah, but being alone sucks,” says Ray. “Take it from a guy who knows. And it ain’t like Tracy Jenkins is secretly a bank-robbing wolf-shooting murderer, right? And you know it’s not gonna last much longer with that husband of hers. So why would you pick being alone over being with her? Or being with any of the four million women who fall in love with you every single goddamn day?”

“Four million women?” repeats Ben, just before it occurs to him that Ray is exaggerating.

“Okay, four million _people_ ,” says Ray. “’Cause I’m pretty sure it ain’t just women.”

And Ben definitely doesn’t want to dwell too long on what Ray means by _that_ , because it’s impolite to assume things. And because he’s not sure that he could handle it, if it turns out that he assumed wrong.

“People don’t fall in love with me, Ray,” says Ben.

“Like fuck they don’t,” says Ray with a snort. “Everywhere you go, it’s like this line of women, or mostly women at least, drowning themselves in drool over the sight of you—”

“People don’t fall in love with me,” repeats Ben, because it’s suddenly very important to him that Ray understands this. “They find me useful. There’s a difference. They appreciate whatever effort I put forth on their behalf, and they conflate gratitude with attraction, and attraction with love, and—”

“And you’re hot,” says Ray.

“I’m… I’m…?”

“Hot. H-O-T hot. Look, it’s not my opinion here, it’s just a fact.”

That, somehow, makes it worse. Of course Ben is aware that there have been people throughout his life who’ve found him attractive. And that’s fine. It’s natural. It happens to everyone, because it’s just chemistry and pheromones and what-have-you. But to have his attractiveness framed as objective, as a _fact_ , is something else entirely.

“My point still stands,” Ben manages to say, even though by now he’s largely forgotten what the point is.

“I’m just saying, you got your pick of women, or men, or whatever. You just gotta take advantage of it.”

But there’s something sullen in Ray’s voice. Something sad, even. Something that makes Ben reach out and pat Ray’s knee. “And what if I choose, instead, to spend my evenings watching hockey with you?”

“Your loss,” says Ray with a smirk. Then the doorbell rings, and he springs up, boots scuffing the coffee table on their way to the floor. “Food’s here. No, put your money away. My treat.”

\- - -

When Maggie Mackenzie shows up with her head full of wilderness survival stories and her eyes full of justice and revenge, Ray’s sure that this time, _this_ time, is finally the time that Fraser’s gonna split. They’ll run away together and build a cabin out of sticks and snow and have a bunch of way-too-pretty kids who’ll all grow up and be Mounties just like Mom and Dad.

But then she turns out to be sort of his sister, so that’s off the table. Thank God.

Ray kisses Maggie at the end of it all. When Fraser asks, he says it’s because she was hot and Ray almost never ends up being the one to kiss the hot girl and he figured it was his turn. Fraser rolls his eyes and says, dutifully, “I’ll thank you to be more respectful when you talk about my sister.”

Ray decides it’s probably best not to add that through the entire kiss, he was thinking about how Maggie shares half his DNA, so if you kinda squint, it’s almost like Ray was kissing Fraser too.

\- - -

“You’ll have to refresh my memory,” says Ben. “It’s been a very long time, and I’m not sure I recall the rules.”

“Well,” huffs Ray, who finally seems to have gotten the hang of snow shoes, more or less, “it’s like this. I go, say, ‘Never have I ever made friends with a wolf,’ and then you take a drink because you _are_ friends with a wolf.”

“So are you,” Ben points out. “Dief likes you very much.”

“It’s just an example,” says Ray, sounding kind of annoyed. “You get what I mean, though?”

Ben nods. But then it occurs to him: “We shouldn’t drink every time, though. Considering how few supplies we have, it would be very wasteful.”

“Don’t ruin it,” says Ray, this time sounding _very_ annoyed.

And for his part, Ben much prefers that Ray not be annoyed at all. He’s finally grown tired of complaining about the cold, and he seems to have made peace with the long trek that lies ahead of them, so Ben will do his part to meet Ray halfway. Which is to say, if he can make this easier for Ray, in any way at all, he won’t hesitate to do so.

“Understood,” he says. “Why don’t you begin?”

“Greatness,” says Ray. “All right, here goes. Never have I ever marched through a frozen Canadian wasteland with nobody except a Mountie for company.”

Ben takes a second to think over the rules of the game. “But isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

“I’m being funny, Fraser. It’s a joke.”

“Oh. Of course. Very funny, Ray.”

“Shut up.”

Ben shuts up.

After a few seconds, Ray sighs. “Okay, fine. Never have I ever been shot in the leg.”

“I have,” says Ben, and mimes taking a drink.

“Good! See, you got the hang of this. Your turn.”

“Never have I ever… ah… been to Florida.”

Ray mimes taking a drink, and then says, “Really? You never been?”

“I’ve never had cause to go,” says Ben, and grimaces as he thinks of the sweltering humidity that supposedly characterizes the place. “Nor do I think I’d enjoy it. Your turn, Ray.”

“Never have I ever had a threesome.”

 _That escalated quickly,_ Ben thinks, as his tongue momentarily forgets how to do its job. He does not mime taking a drink.

“Never, huh?” says Ray, after a second.

“No, Ray. Never.”

“Me neither. Wanted to, but Stel wasn’t into it.”

“I see,” says Ben.

“Never have I ever sucked another guy off,” says Ray.

“Aren’t we supposed to take turns?” says Ben, speeding up his pace a little.

“Well?” says Ray. “Have you?”

“And isn’t this supposed to be a game about life experience in general, not my sexual experience in particular?”

“It always ends up being about sex anyway,” says Ray. “I’m just skipping the transitions. And it’s not just your experience. It’s mine, too. So come on. Either take a drink or don’t.”

Ben mimes taking a drink.

“Oh-ho-ho!” says Ray. “Interesting, very interesting! Okay, wait, never have I ever gotten fucked by—”

“Never have I ever been divorced and spent the next several years pining over the ex-wife that I’ll never get back,” says Ben. He knows it’s a cruel thing to say. Vicious, even. Unnecessarily so. But he doesn’t know how else to deflect Ray’s questions.

And there’s no choice but to deflect Ray’s questions, is there? Ray has made it very clear that he doesn’t like being up here, and Ben doesn’t like being down in Chicago, and even if they do manage to acknowledge this—this _thing_ —this whatever-it-is that’s been growing slowly between them, it wouldn’t work out. Because it never works out. Not for Ben. Not ever.

For a few minutes there’s no sound but the swishing of snow under their feet.

Then Ben says, “I apologize, Ray. That was uncalled for.”

“Nah,” says Ray. “Don’t. I crossed a line. Just ’cause you tell me stuff sometimes doesn’t mean I get to pry whenever I want.”

Ben doesn’t say that it’s not about the prying, it’s about the _suddenness_ of the prying. Ben doesn’t say that Ray should pry whenever he wants, but he should perhaps consider being gentler about it.

What Ben does say is, “Never have I ever thought, with great frequency and in great detail, about kissing my partner.”

After a long moment, Ray mimes taking a drink.

Ben does, too.

\- - -

Now that they’ve got food and a fire and they’re not sleeping on the side of a mountain anymore, Ray decides he doesn’t so much mind it up here. Sure, it’s cold, but he can deal with cold. Long as Fraser’s around, he figures he can pretty much deal with anything.

Except the Ice Queen. He definitely can’t deal with her.

What the hell’d she want with Fraser just now, anyway?

On second thought, maybe Ray doesn’t want to know.

\- - -

“Then maybe we should take advantage of what time we have,” says Inspector Thatcher, “seeing as there might not be much of it left.”

The invitation is about as blatant as they come, and there’s a very small part of Ben that truly, honestly does want to say yes. Inspector Thatcher is a strong, capable woman. She’s smart and beautiful, not to mention a superlative police officer. How lovely it would be, Ben thinks, to take her face in his hands and kiss her. To undress her, to let her undress him in turn, to taste her skin. To give her the kind of pleasure she so clearly wants.

But he doesn’t think he could stand to have all that, only to let it go again.

He’s so tired of ending up alone.

His answer must show on his face, because Inspector Thatcher nods slowly, resignedly. “I understand,” she says. “I thought we… But I suppose I was mistaken.”

“You weren’t,” says Ben quietly. “But it’s like you said. Our lives aren’t compatible.”

Inspector Thatcher nods again. “And even if they were, I’m still your superior officer. If we pursued any kind of real relationship, the press would have our hides. I suspect you don’t want that any more than I do.”

 _Superior officer,_ thinks Ben. In some ways, that’s been the best part of their flirtations: the knowledge that the choice has always been hers, and it was him that she chose.

“There’s no press here now, sir,” he says, taking a small step closer to her. “If, in your capacity as my superior, you were to order me to kiss you… well, nobody would ever know but us.”

Her brown eyes widen just a bit. She smiles, and her face is lovely in the moonlight. “Consider the order given, Constable.”

So Ben removes his hat and kisses her, one last time. It’s a chaste gesture, just a press of lips against lips that eventually turns into a simple, platonic embrace. As he holds her, he finds himself thinking of Ray.

“Thank you, sir,” he says, when she finally lets go of him.

“Meg,” says Inspector Thatcher.

“Ben,” says Ben, and smiles.

Inspector Thatcher quirks an eyebrow at him. “If you say so, Constable.”

Ben laughs and replaces his hat on his head. “Good night, sir.”

And he turns away from her and heads back toward camp.

He has to find Ray.

\- - -

“Ray? Are you sleeping?”

“Mmmnnnhh. Uh, no. Not anymore.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t figure you’d be back this soon. Or, you know. At all.”

“At all? Whyever not?”

“Well, you and the Ice Queen, right? I figured she wanted to—you know.”

“She did. She asked. I said no.”

“You… Oh.’

“It was quite amicable. Would you mind if I lit a lamp? I’d like to get changed, and it’s difficult in the dark.”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

“…”

“…”

“It’s not actually that bad up here, Fraser.”

“I’m glad to hear you say so.”

“Actually kinda cozy.”

“Your sleeping bag is comfortable, then?”

“Mmhmm. Yours?”

“It’s more than suitable, yes.”

“Hey, uh, Fraser?”

“Yes, Ra— _Oh!_ What are y—”

“Gimme your hands.”

“Ray. You’re sitting on me.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Ray, why are you sitting on me?”

“Shut up, Fraser.”

“…”

“Shut up and give me your hands and let me talk.”

“…”

“Okay, see, I couldn’t find anything to tie you up with. And I guess there isn’t even a bed to tie you to, so this is the only way I got of saying what I want to say. Here it is. Okay. I want you to stay with me, Fraser. Or I want me to stay with you. Both of those, I guess. I want—”

“Yes.”

“—wait, huh?”

“I said yes, Ray. I want to stay with you, too. I want that very much.”

“Oh. I just. I wasn’t sure if. Oh. Okay.”

Ben smiles up at Ray, suddenly feeling more at peace with his life than he ever has before. “If we make it through tomorrow, do you still want to have an adventure?”

“Gotta find that reaching-out hand, right?” says Ray, and reaches his own hand out to touch Ben’s neck, then his cheek. Ben’s skin tingles at the contact. “And obviously we’re gonna make it through. We always do, you and me.”

“In that case, Ray… will you take me with you?”

“You kidding? Like I could survive more than an hour up here alone.”

Ben laughs softly. He knows what Ray means—not that he _couldn’t_ survive alone, but that he doesn’t want to. And nobody, he thinks, ought to be alone if they don’t want to.

“Hey, Fraser,” says Ray, his voice sitting lower in his throat than usual.

“Yes, Ray?”

“Never have I ever made out with my partner in a tent in the middle of the Arctic wilderness.”

Ben grins, and mimes taking a drink.

Ray’s eyebrows shoot up. “Wait. Wait. You have?”

“No,” says Ben. “But I’m about to.”


End file.
